


the geneva contract

by Pinkmanite



Series: in love and war [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, fondue as a plot device, reaction fic, when will a man fly eight hours across an ocean for me wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Kyle gets his mind set on something and suddenly the whole“I’ll come there and get you myself if I have to”thing becomes less of a threat and more of a reality.Willy should've known.





	the geneva contract

**Author's Note:**

> I never do these kinds of disclaimers, but because a popular blog tweeted specifically about Kyle/Willy Swiss Fic out in public to a large audience, I'm going to try and cover all my bases: 
> 
> If you or anyone you know in real life is mentioned, do everyone a favor and just pretend you never saw this, leave. Just go and do that. This is fake, this isn't real, it's imaginary, it's fiction. These are _characters_ being depicted, and are not accurate portrayals of the actual people in which they are based on. I don't own anyone or anything mentioned.
> 
> Additionally, please please please do _not_ repost any parts of this work or the link to this work in any public spaces. I ask you to please keep this only within the HRPF community. For everyone's sake.
> 
> That's all, now can we please talk about how Kyle fucking Dubas literally, in real life, flew to Switzerland just for William Nylander??? Sometimes life hands you things on a silver platter and you just have to accept it and say thank you.

It’s nice, being in Toronto for the summer. Sure, Willy can’t help but feel a little bit of FOMO watching all of his Swedish buddies and national teammates go back-to-back without him, but he still feels like it’s the right move, staying here to do what he needs to do.

Plus, it’s nice to be able to hang around, for personal reasons, too.

Willy can’t really pinpoint when they started doing this, but its goes back far enough that it’s not just normal, but routine for him to spend more nights at Kyle’s than his own. It’s better in the off season, where there’s a little less pressure, a little more room to be indulgent.

And _god_ , are they indulgent.

It’s just, Willy knows he won’t get a lot of this during the season. He knows this from past experience, of course, but with the upgrade of Kyle’s new big boy role, it’s a little bit more complicated than it ever was. Not that it’s anything the two of them can’t handle, but it won’t be easy. So Willy takes as much as he can get while he can, stows away these little moments, preserves them as memories.

Like the way Kyle looks in the morning, awful bedhead and soft cotton tee a little wrinkled. He’s usually in his boxers, looser than the cut that Willy wears. It suits him, though, flowy and soft in a way that Willy rarely gets to see him anymore.

He particularly likes how the sun streams into Kyle’s kitchen in the morning, low and golden where it outlines every wisp of misplaced hair in a brown-gold shine. Willy likes that he gets to see this side of Kyle all the time, all to himself, while the rest of the world is stuck with stuffy suits, cold and sharp-edged.

Kyle catches him staring one morning, a lazy Sunday where neither of them have anywhere to be until after noon. He’s fixing breakfast while Willy is perched on a bar stool at the island, content just to watch him.

“What?” Kyle says, but grins at him.

“Just enjoying the view,” Willy hums. He’s got his elbow on the counter, rests his cheek in his hand. He doesn’t hide it when he check Kyle out, gives him a good up and down. When he meets Kyle’s eyes again, he’s not surprised to find him watching. So Willy takes advantage of it, bites at his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, doesn’t break eye contact. “Hi.”

Kyle swallows, face red as he gets more flustered. But then he grins, confident and sure in that way he likes to do a lot these days. He leans over the counter, easily grabs Willy’s chin out of his own hand.

The kiss is slow, maybe a little lazy, but it’s firm and just the right amount of control that Willy craves from him. By the time they part, Willy knows how he must look, lips red and swollen and wet. Yet Kyle wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and you wouldn’t even be able to tell if you hadn’t known. Willy feels like he should be annoyed, but it’s kind of hot. He’s just a little endeared.

He kind of wants to lean in for more, maybe bring this back to bed, just because they have the time and they actually can, but right when he opens his mouth to say something dirty, Kyle cuts him off. And by the glint in his eye, Willy knows it’s on purpose.

“Nope,” Kyle says, “eat your breakfast like a good boy.” He passes a plate over the counter, slides it in front of him. And, well, Willy was never one to turn down eggs and bacon, especially not Kyle’s eggs and bacon.

While Willy tucks in, Kyle comes around with two mugs, sets them down before he slides into the stool next to him. It’s a comfortable silence while they eat, the kind where no one needs to say anything because they’re perfectly content just to be in each other's company.

Willy finishes first, but he takes his time sipping at his coffee, waits until Kyle’s nearly done to start rinsing off the dishes. He’s putting the last of them into the dishwasher when Kyle comes up behind him, wraps his arms around Willy’s middle and tucks his face into the crook of his neck.

“It’s still early,” Kyle murmurs into his skin. “Come back to bed?”

Willy cranes his neck back until he can kiss Kyle. It’s an awkward angle but it’s good, it’s always good when it’s them.

“Yeah,” Willy pants, when they finally manage to part. “Take me back to bed.”

Kyle grins and Willy can feel it against his neck, feel his arms around him and his warmth encompassing him. And in the early light, golden hues stretched long across the counters and floors, warm on his skin, Willy thinks this is it, these are the moments he wants to live for.

He wants this forever.

 

~

 

But good things never last. Not for Willy, apparently.

Summer goes by fast but negotiations don’t. The worst part is that there really isn’t anything Willy can do. He goes by Gross’s office once a week, calls him even more. It’s getting to the point where Gross is maybe getting a little annoyed with him. And by a little, Willy definitely means a lot.

As in, enough for Gross to go tattling to Willy’s father, who makes an executive decision.

Telling Kyle isn’t easy. Obviously, he’ll get the official business memo about it, because Willy had to fill out the appropriate paperwork with like five different departments, but Willy needs to tell him himself. Personally.

It sucks because it’s otherwise a really nice night. They go to dinner at some top-floor restaurant, where Kyle had reserved a private booth in the back of the restaurant and Willy had to dress nice. Not that minds, not for Kyle, of course.

It’s supposed to be like, super fancy with artisan cheese and this really pretty spread of specialty breads and vegetables and whatever. Kyle thinks it’s appropriately fancy, table etiquette just as impeccable as always. But Willy can’t help but think it’s the funniest thing.

“What?” Kyle gives him a pointed look, maybe along the lines of ‘ _behave_ ’ but Willy’s pretty immune to that by now.

“This is just,” Willy pauses, tries to find the word, “really cute.”

Kyle makes a face. “Well, you can pick next time—”

“No, no,” Willy quickly amends, and he reaches across the table, grabs Kyle’s hands in his. “I like it, it’s just. This is Alex’s favorite thing, he used to go on snowboard trips to the Alps with his friends and I guess he liked this fondue thing so much he’d try to recreate it at home. I’ve never had the real, actual Swiss thing, but it’s just. It’s always messy? And ridiculous? And I like it.”

He’s rambling, and he knows that Kyle can tell, especially when he starts to rub circles with his thumb on Willy’s hand. Kyle glances around, then leans it real quick, shuts him up with a quick kiss. “You’ll have to have the real thing one day, but this one’s pretty good in the meantime.”

Kyle’s smiling, and he’s looking at Willy with something that makes him go pink, heart clenched.

So overall it’d been good, really good. But the minute they get back to Kyle’s place, Willy readily strips out of his suit and steals one of Kyle’s shirts without having to ask. Kyle does something the same, slips into sweats, too.

They’re perfectly dressed to cuddle up on the couch, watching whatever drama is trending on Netflix. It’s more for Willy, because Kyle slings an arm around him and dives into this book he’s been reading all week. But it’s comfortable and warm and familiar, so Willy doesn’t mind.

It’s a couple of episodes later, and honestly Kyle probably thought he’d fallen asleep. But it’s time. Willy has to tell him.

“I’m going home.”

Kyle doesn’t get it at first, and that’s kind of what Willy was afraid of. Because Kyle barely even looks up from his book, just kind of hums something agreeable, mutters something about calling an uber for him.

Willy takes a breath and tries again, presses closer into Kyle’s chest. “No, I mean,” he clarifies, “I’m flying to Stockholm on Saturday.”

He feels Kyle tense up from under him, it’s brief, but he doesn’t miss it. “You’re what?” But Kyle shakes his head, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For how long?”

“Until we’ve finished negotiations.” Willy sits up, pulls away from Kyle’s warmth and composes himself. He won’t look at Kyle, even though he probably should. He knows if he looks, he’ll have to face whatever Kyle’s throwing at him — disappointment, hurt. Betrayal, probably.

“I thought you were staying here specifically for negotiations.” Kyle sits up, too, now. He puts his book down and crosses his arm, full attention on Willy.

“I was, and I did.” Willy sighs, rubs at the back of his neck. “My dad wants me home for the rest.”

Willy finally looks at him, tentative. He can tell Kyle’s holding back, lips a thin line. It’s kind of cold, having Kyle guard himself from Willy like that so easily. But he supposes it’s fair, it makes sense. It’s part of his job.

It’s business.

But.

“I don’t want to, you know I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” Kyle snaps, a little harsher than he probably means to.

And Willy knows he doesn’t mean it, he knows Kyle well enough to know that. But it still pisses him off, because it’s not like he’s doing this on purpose.

He doesn’t think before he speaks. “Well if you’re so bothered by it, maybe you should’ve signed me already.”

It’s mean and it’s cruel and it definitely crosses a line. But Willy takes satisfaction in the way Kyle bristles, likes the way it digs at him, gets at him just the way Willy had wanted.

“Fuck you,” Kyle stands up abruptly, fully upset. “Maybe if you just took the money we gave you we wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh don’t pin that on me,” Willy stands up, too, gets eye-level and in Kyle’s face. “I don’t do that, you know I don’t do that.”

Kyle scoffs. “Don’t act like you’re not involved at all. Your _dad_ is one of your reps. You—”

“Stop,” Willy says, rushed, almost a shout. “Don’t say something you’re going to regret, Dubas.”

And while Kyle does shut his mouth then, he squints at Willy, takes a deep breath. He swallows whatever he was originally going to say, but it doesn’t stop him from speaking at all. “Do you even want to be here, William?”

He inhales at his full name, lets the words sink in. He knows Kyle does mean here in Toronto, playing as a Maple Leaf. But he knows Kyle also means something else.

Willy swallows. Then he takes out his phone.

“I’m calling an Uber.”

It’s not a direct answer, but it’s answer enough.

 

~

 

Kyle tries to call him a few times before he flies out, but Willy is stubborn and declines each call. It’s not so much that he wants to be an asshole on purpose, but he doesn’t want to deal with Kyle right now. He’s already got enough to work through, what with his dad breathing down his back and Gross being _the_ most unhelpful.

Willy tries not to focus on it. He deep cleans the apartment with Kappy on FaceTime. He even wakes up early so it’s a decent enough hour over there. They stay on for five hours, but Willy doesn’t even notice until he goes to hang up. They make some plans to maybe meet up at some point, but they’re flimsy. Willy misses him.

Mitchy comes over a couple of times, they go golfing, go out for steaks. Willy thinks he’s pretty crafty when he insists on picking the place, proud of the way he passes it off as all-knowing when it’s really because he wants to avoid the places he and Kyle usually go to.

It’s not easy, but it’s also not too terribly difficult, for Willy to fill up spaces where Kyle should be, even if it’s just for a few days. He doesn’t sleep very well, he can’t figure out how to make his coffee just the right way, but he makes do. He has to.

So no matter how much Willy tries to make it hurt less, it hurts maybe even that much more when he hits decline.

 

~

 

Willy isn’t ready to face The Kyle Problem until a few weeks later, when he’s settled into his condo in Stockholm, fridge already full with at least three tupperwares full of his mom’s meatballs. It really is the good life, which is probably why Willy’s finally ready to handle Kyle.

He shoots him a text, a short and simple _‘hey we should talk?’_ right after his afternoon skate session. It should be morning in Toronto, and it should give Kyle enough time to offer a time decent for the both of them.

While Willy doesn’t expect a text back right away, he still expects a response before the end of the day. He waits, goes home and showers. Nothing. He waits more, goes to meet Alex and his dad for dinner. Nothing. He waits again, makes it back to his place and gets ready for bed. Nothing.

He wakes up in the morning, sun streaking in long strips, right across his face. There’s no text from Kyle, but there’s an email notification, marked as important. It’s from K. Dubas, his official Maple Leafs address.

_Mr. Nylander, In light of contractual negotiations, please limit contact through that of representative parties…_

It cuts off there, but Willy doesn’t need to open it or read the rest. There’s a tightness in his chest, a sudden weight that feels heavier and heavier until it makes him feel sick. Willy almost doesn’t believe it, doesn’t _want_ to believe it, but he does, because he has to.

If that’s how Kyle wants to play this, then that’s how it’ll be.

 

~

 

If Willy thought he had some FOMO about Worlds, he definitely has a serious case now. It’s October, and he misses hockey. Well, not _hockey_ hockey, because he’s got a very strict regimen and he’s been training nonstop, but he misses _his_ hockey, with his team and his guys.

It’s not like he’s out of the loop, because he gets so many snaps he’ll wake up to like, a hundred notifications. He stays in touch as much as he can, crosses his F’s through FaceTime and Fortnite dates with his buds. He misses them, he misses the NHL, but he swallows that down with more of his mom’s meatballs. Tries to focus.

He does his best to avoid social media and press and everything, but it’s really fucking hard when it’s your own name buzzing around the league like hot gossip. He knows it’s all noise and the only thing that matters is what he _can_ do, what he _can_ take into his own hands. So he does his absolute best to tune it out, he tries and tries.

_Is Nylander Replaceable?_

It's just.

_Kapanen Makes Us Miss Nylander A Lot Less_

You can’t ignore everything.

He tries not to get too in his head about it, tries to focus on his family and his training and his local friends. But as the temperature starts to dip and the season starts to change, Willy can’t help but feel too entirely out of place.

He doesn’t belong here, not right now, and not like this. It’s kind of lonely, in a way. The kind that he never imagined he’d have to feel after making it the NHL. It’s frustrating, because he knows it doesn’t always have to be like this, usually _isn’t._

Willy spends the afternoon at the weight room in his building. It’s not really in his regimen, this is technically free time, but Willy knows that if he doesn’t have something to do, something to focus on, he’ll probably just get more into his head.

Unfortunately, the television in the gym is tuned into some local sports channel, and it just so happens to be showing NHL highlights. It’s one of those things, like one of those strange feelings when you know you shouldn’t do something but you have to do it anyway. It cycles to the Leafs highlights and Willy can’t look away, no matter how much the voice in his head screams at him.

Damn, Kappy really did get a nice one there.

Willy lets himself that thought, but then they cycle to another team and he’s finally free, can finally push the rest of the thoughts away before the bubble up. Especially the nastier ones. Willy can be happy for his friend, he’s allowed that.

So, once he’s gone through the weights, he heads back upstairs and messages Kappy while he’s in the elevator. He doesn’t really know what he says, some generic _‘nice goal’_ or something like that. It’s just Kappy, he’ll know that Willy means it.

And unlike Kyle, while Kappy doesn’t respond right away, he responds soon enough.

_hope ur good_

Willy stares at it a little longer than he should, but he finally smiles, just a little, and appreciates it for the outreach that it is. He assures him he’s fine, that _they’re_ fine, because he knows that Kappy worries about him sometimes. He’s good like that, which is also why Willy thinks he should probably expect an extra long FaceTime sesh with him sometime in the near future.

But, the whole thing does kind of start something in his head. It _is_ October, and Willy’s getting antsy.

He checks the local time, debates the pros and cons of his dad getting upset with him, but eventually decides to call Gross.

It almost goes to voicemail, but Gross picks up at the last second. “Will! What can I do for ya?”

“Hey Lewis,” Willy says, “sorry to bug you, but I just wanted to check in on how things are going?”

Willy almost rolls his eyes when he hears Gross sigh, purposefully audible, on the other end. “We’ve talked about this before, you can just leave it up to Michael and I.”

“Sorry, I’m just getting restless out here,” Willy tries to keep the bite out of his tone.

“I know, I know, and we’re working on it,” Gross tries to assure him. “You’ll be the first person I call we make progress, okay? I promise.”

Willy hates how he sounds, like he’s trying to placate a child. He hates being treated like that, talked down to. But it’s futile, that’s all he’s going to get out of him. So he tries not to sound too put out. “Yup, got it. Hope to hear from you soon, though.”

“I hope so, too.”

He hangs up and watches his phone go black in his hand. The call leaves him feeling weird, like he needs to dispel some kind of bad energy. He’s going to call Kappy later on, and yeah, it’ll make him feel a little better, but he knows it isn’t exactly what he's looking for. There’s only one person he wants — _needs_ — to talk to.

Willy spends the next twenty minutes trying to type out something to message to Kyle. He clears the box and restarts over and over, but he doesn’t hit send, not for a while, not for a hundred different messages. He doesn’t hit send.

Until he does.

 

~

 

When Willy’s phone rings a couple hours later, he’s honestly expecting it to be Kappy. So he answers, even though he’s in the middle of chewing on a granola bar, mouth full. “Sup, Kas.”

“Willy?”

Aaaaand that’s definitely _not_ Kappy.

But, it’s still a voice that Willy could recognize anywhere. In a mild panic, he swallows down the rest of whatever’s in his mouth, then tilts his phone until the screen lights up. Sure enough, there’s Kyle’s contact card, displayed as the current call.

“Oh,” Willy tries to sounds disinterested. “Hi, Kyle.”

There’s a beat. “Is this a bad time?”

It’s both a genuine question and an easy out, but Willy knows that if he doesn’t do this now, he might not find enough motivation to do it later. So he sighs, finds a comfy spot on his couch, and sits down for this.

“No, this is fine.”

He can hear Kyle breathing on the other end, knows that he’s carefully thinking of what to say and how to say it. It should be weird, because Kyle’s usually so eloquent and clever and quick. It’s what he does, he charms people like that. But this isn’t business, this is just the two of them. It should be weird, but it’s not, because this is just for Willy. He missed that.

In fact, he doesn’t wait, he says it. “I miss you—”

But it’s at the same time Kyle finally goes on, “I’ve been speaking with Lewis—”

“Oh,” Willy cuts into. The realizations washes over him in red hot embarrassment, enough that he doesn’t even have to look, he can just feel it in his face. The embarrassment is strong, but.

The hurt is a little stronger.

“Sorry, wait,” Willy starts again, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Is this a business call?”

“Um,” Kyle pauses a little awkwardly. “Yes?”

Willy blinks. “Are you kidding me right now?”

And just like that, the hurt and the embarrassment churn, turned over into hot, fresh anger in less than a moment.

“I’m your general manager in the middle of your contract negotiations,” Kyle says, and he’s using his media voice. Willy knows the difference. “Business calls happen.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit,” Willy practically spits. “You know it’s not about the business call. It’s about the lack of personal calls.”

There’s a bit of shuffling. “I thought I was pretty clear, we’re not doing anything _personal_ until we get this done.”

“Glad to know how easy it is for you to just put us on hold like that,” Willy goes for the jugular.

“Can you relax for two seconds?” Kyle’s patience is breaking, and Willy is just a little satisfied.

“Only if you can maybe consider me as a person for two seconds?”

“You can’t spin it like that—”

“What happened to _us_ , Kyle?” Willy finally breaks. He doesn’t cry or anything like that. But it’s a near thing.

There’s a long pause where Kyle doesn’t say anything, line silent, but Willy knows he’s still there. He waits, lets Kyle take his time.

Then, finally, “I love you, you know that.” And it should stop there, Willy wishes it stopped there. But Kyle continues, “I just think that given the circumstances, we shouldn’t get caught up in personal aspects involved here.”

Willy tries his best not to have an outburst, he really, really does. But it’s not easy. “You can’t just put on your suit and remove the _personal aspects_. Don’t you fucking want me there?”

It’s raw, and maybe a little too vulnerable. But if Kyle is going to emotionally remove himself, then Willy figures he’ll make up for the both of them.

Kyle exhales on the other end, shaky. Good.

“Of course I want you here,” Kyle finally breaks. “Do you even realize how much I miss you? I’m _trying_ , why don’t you get that?”

“Yeah? Well you could’ve fooled me,” Willy huffs, petulant.

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Kyle tries.

“But at what cost, Kyle? Is it really worth sacrificing this?”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” There’s a new edge to Kyle’s voice, more noticeable the more frustrated he gets. Willy hates it.

“Well I don’t think it’s that much to ask that you just fucking talk to me,” Willy gripes. “Personally,” he adds.

“I have to separate,” Kyle says, and it sounds like a weak defense, but he stands by it. “I have to separate business and personal. I’m under a lot of pressure. Could you sympathize for once in your life?”

“Wow,” Willy seethes. “Unbelievable.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Don’t try to backtrack, I get it,” Willy calms into a cool heat, and it’s a little scary but he can’t stop himself. “Now I know what you really think of me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kyle repeats, harder this time. “But I’m trying to make you understand why I can’t mix _us_ with negotiations.”

Willy almost doesn’t say it, almost stops himself, but he’s angry and upset and hurt, and those are the things that cloud better judgement. “You didn’t seem to care about mixing business and pleasure when you were fucking me all summer.”

And there it is, that’s the bomb. It leaves a ringing in Willy’s ears, even as both lines go dead silent. He doesn’t regret it, not right away. Instead, he revels in the effect, dares Kyle to make the next move.

“You’re such an asshole,” is what Kyle finally settles on, small and so unlike him. And part of Willy is hurt, knowing he did that. But another part of Willy feels some sick sense of accomplishment, knowing he did that.

“Not even going to deny it?” Willy keeps going. “And here I thought we actually meant something. Stupid Willy, so naive, right? Thought you could just fuck me into taking a discount? That it?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” Kyle says. “You’re being a dick.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Willy finally huffs, exhausted. “But you still won’t fucking talk to me so how am I supposed to know?”

“That doesn’t give you the right to say shit like that.”

“I think I have a right to say whatever I want if you’re not going to listen to me, anyway,” Willy counters.

“You’re being difficult.”

For the first time in this call, Willy lets the pause stretch out. He’s tired, he’s just so fucking tired. And yeah, he doesn’t actually believe any of the things he said to Kyle, but it still hurts, knowing that he’s still second to Kyle’s work life. It still hurts.

Willy is sick of feeling hurt.

“I think we need to break up,” he eventually breaks the silence.

There’s a moment where Kyle processes, but then he maybe freaks out a little. “Absolutely not.”

“What? You can’t just veto a break up,” Willy says.

“This sucks, okay? But we’re stronger than that.”

“Are we?” Willy thinks bitterly about the past few weeks, about how if he looks out his window he’s still in Stockholm and people are wearing jackets. About his empty condo and his empty bed and—

“Don’t you think so?”

Willy thinks about it, but he thinks about how tired he is of all this shit.

“No.”

And he hangs up.

 

~

 

Willy wakes up to no more than ten text messages, four missed calls, and a voicemail.

Actually, Willy’s kind of impressed with Kyle’s restraint. If it had been the other way around, Willy’s almost certain he’d have filled his whole voicemail and blown up his phone. It could be worse.

He skims the texts, because they’re full out paragraphs, not that he’d expect anything else from Kyle. They start out angry but gradually cool down, a gradient of emotions. The last one is the longest, and it’s soft and sweet and it makes Willy’s heart swell in his chest, filled with saudade.

But he doesn’t reply, there’s still the voicemail. He throws his head back into his pillows, makes sure speaker is on, and then hits play.

It’s long, probably goes all the way to the time limit. Willy knows he literally just heard Kyle’s voice yesterday, but it’s different, hearing him played back, uninterrupted but so intensely directed at Willy alone. Most of it is apology, it’s sweet. But then Kyle has to go and blow it at the end.

_“I’m sorry but I want to fix this. I’m coming there and we can talk this out in person because I’m not giving up on us. Keep it hush. I’ll send you my flight details in the morning.”_

He’s coming _where_? Oh no, no fucking way. Willy knows he heard it correctly, but he rewinds it just to hear it one more time, half-hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t.

It’s nearly three in the morning in Toronto, but Willy doesn’t care, he calls Kyle again and again until he picks up. Which isn’t too long, because he answers on the third call, voice gruff with sleep and a little groggy. “Hello?”

“You can’t come here,” Willy jumps right in. “This is like, my space.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end and Willy figures Kyle’s turning out of bed and the like. “It’s three in the morning.”

“You can’t come to Stockholm.” He doesn’t budge.

“Okay,” Kyle says neutrally. “Then can you come to Toronto?”

“I can’t do that, you know that,” Willy says. “You know how that looks, the media would be all over it.”

“Then let me come there,” Kyle isn’t quite pleading, but it’s a near thing.

“I know you’re trying, but you can’t go from ‘no mixing business and personal’ straight to flying transatlantic to my hometown just so we can talk out our relationship issues. It’s like, a lot.”

“I just know I’ve been kind of a dick. Not that _you_ haven’t been a dick, too, but. We’ve both been kind of unfair to each other and I want to fix it.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to sneak you into Sweden.”

“No one will recognize me.”

“You don’t know that,” Willy interrupts. “Besides, you’re supposed to be working on my contract. You shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Kyle thinks it over and Willy waits patiently, lets him. “I think I have an idea, I just have to make some phone calls in the morning. Do you trust me?”

Willy hesitates, but he knows Kyle understands. Eventually, though, he nods, then remembers Kyle can’t see him. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Kyle hums. “Then I hope to see you soon.”

Willy isn’t quite sure what he agreed to, but he hopes he made the right choice.

 

~

 

Gross calls him that afternoon. Willy wasn’t really expecting it, but he’s not surprised, either. Guess Kyle wasn’t kidding, not that he’d ever doubted him. He’s just impressed with how quickly this man works.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

“Hey Lewis,” Willy answers.

“See, I told you I’d call you as soon as we made progress,” Gross sounds a little too excited.

“So what’s the update?” Willy doesn’t waste time.

Gross laughs on the other end. “I’m getting there! We’ve arranged a meeting with Dubas.”

Willy doesn't miss how Gross tries to take credit when really he knows it was all arranged by Kyle. But he’s not supposed to know that, so he plays dumb. “That’s great, but haven’t you already been meeting with him regularly?”

“No, we’re all meeting, you and your father included,” Gross hums, proud. “I’ve already booked your flight to Zurich so get packing, you leave first thing in the morning.”

“Zurich?” Willy blinks.

“Oh yeah,” Gross explains, “we’re meeting on neutral grounds. He agreed to come to Europe, so it shouldn’t disrupt your training schedule too much. We’re still trying to keep it quiet, though, so try to stay low.”

“Got it,” Willy says, even though he still hasn’t fully processed it yet. He hangs up and sits there a moment, thinks about what exactly just happened.

But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long. He’s got to pack and, maybe more importantly, mentally prepare for this. Because it might be contract negotiations on the surface, but Willy knows what this is really about. After all, no GM would fly eight hours across the ocean _just_ to get a contract done.

So that’s what’s on Willy’s mind while he starts throwing things into his suitcase. He packs mostly suits, but some tee shirts and sweats, too. It’s hard, because most of his stuff is Maple Leafs branded — hell, he still trains in his full Leafs gear — but he knows that’s not the stuff he should bring to a negotiation meeting, no matter how much he wants to.

It’s a little while until he’s done, but he finally plops into his couch and swipes through the notifications on his phone. There’s a few texts from his dad, an email confirmation for his flight from Gross.

But there’s a message from Kyle, too. Willy opens that one first.

 

~

 

_at least now we can have the real thing?_

 

 

~

 

It’s only a three hour flight but it’s too hot in the cabin and Willy’s too worried about being seen to take off his hoodie. So he keeps the hood up, pulls down the brim of his hat, and tries his best to grin and bear it.

He’s pretty proud of himself because he makes it the whole flight without anyone realizing who he is. And really, he’s not too concerned about Zurich, the hard part was making it through Arlanda, and he already managed that.

So Willy thinks he’s in the clear. Should’ve knocked on wood.

He’s long disembarked and in the nearest bathroom when he hears the announcement over the entire terminal intercom.

_“Mr. William Nylander is requested to contact any ground staff.”_

Well, fuck. So much for laying low.

He knows it’s not real, but he feels like everyone is now hyper-aware of him, watching him, as makes his way to the nearest SAS desk. He still keeps his hood on and tries to keep his head down.

“Uh hi,” he says, awkwardly quiet, “I’m William Nylander?”

“Ah yes,” the woman doesn’t even bat an eye, doesn’t even realize what she’s done in exposing him, “you dropped your passport, sir.” She has the little red booklet in her hand and flips it open to the picture page. It’s a quick glance to his face and back to the booklet while she compares. It seems to satisfy her because she hands it over. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” Willy says, makes sure to zip it into a pocket in his bag this time. He gets out of there as fast as he can. The quicker he can get to the hotel and shower, the more likely he is to chill out. But he can’t stop thinking about the announcement on the intercom.

Gross is going to kill him.

 

~

 

It leaks before anyone else even makes it to the hotel.

It’s all over Twitter, and Willy half-heartedly hopes that it won’t gain traction, because who actually reads the Sun, let alone trusts it? But then the media pounces on it, because the phrase _William Nylander_ is the latest buzzword around the city, and the whole thing blows up.

Luckily, Gross is still on an airplane over the middle of the ocean, so it buys Willy a few more hours until he has to deal with that. His dad, however.

He’s already landed and has just arrived to the hotel. He texts Willy to let him know, and, sensing he’s already in deep water, Willy texts him back and to tell him that he’s on his way down to meet him in the lobby.

Since his cover is completely blown, he doesn’t bother with the whole hoodie-hat combo, is actually secretly relieved to be able to go downstairs in his sweats. He’s a beacon, a walking ‘hi I’m William Nylander here in Zurich’ but he doesn’t care, anymore the damage is already done. Besides, it’ll be easier for his dad to spot him.

But Willy doesn’t consider how easy it’d be for _others_ to spot him.

“Willy?”

And. Willy knows that voice, maybe better than he knows his own. He spins around _so_ fast. “Kyle?”

It’s Kyle, it’s definitely Kyle, right there in front of him for the first time since he stormed out of his condo months ago. And he wants to reach out and bury his face in Kyle’s neck, wants to grab him and kiss him until he can’t breathe, wants to wrap Kyle’s arms around him and be held for hours and hours.

But he doesn’t do that, and neither does Kyle, because they know better.

It’s painful, almost, having to control himself when everything he wants is right there in his reach.

“Willy, I—” Kyle stops, pauses, but then he smiles, soft, just a little. “You look good.”

And Willy can’t help it, he smiles back. “Thanks. You do, too.”

They must look ridiculous, just grinning at each other in the middle of the lobby.

“Hey, um, I know we’re going to have time to actually talk about this later, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry for being a dick,” Kyle fidgets with his watch, is kind of hesitant to look up.

But Willy laughs, and startles him into looking again. “I’m sorry for being a dick, too,” Willy offers.

“I kind of deserved it,” Kyle shrugs.

“Still, I said some things I really didn’t mean,” Willy admits. “But you’re right, we’ll talk about it more later. I should probably go, I actually came down to—”

“Will, what are you doing?” And there it is. His dad stalks over to them, doesn’t hesitate in putting a hand on Willy’s shoulder. It’s a clear message, and while Kyle is a little apologetic, he quickly puts on his GM-face, straightens up.

“Mr. Nylander,” he greets, cool and level-headed, a complete one-eighty from his demeanor just seconds before.

“Mr. Dubas,” Michael Nylander says, matching him. He isn’t subtle when he sizes him up, judging. But Kyle’s used to this kind of treatment. It doesn’t phase him. He stands his ground, blinks at Michael, just a hint of challenge.

Michael’s grip tightens on Willy’s shoulder, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Kyle.

“You shouldn’t be talking to William without his representatives.”

“Dad—” Willy tries, but Michael taps one of his fingers on his shoulder, and Willy remembers he’s already in trouble. He shuts up and gives Kyle an apologetic look.

But Kyle smiles pleasantly, not at all like before; it’s his media smile, slick and professional but otherwise mirthless. “Of course, we were just exchanging pleasantries.” Michael opens his mouth to say something, but Kyle doesn’t give him the chance, instead continues to smooth things over. “But my apologies, it won’t happen again.”

And with that, Kyle hikes his bag higher up on his shoulder and pushes past them to the elevators without so much as a goodbye.

“You have to be more careful,” Michael says, finally removing his hand. “Never trust the front office,” and he sounds bitter, but Willy doesn’t comment on it.

“Sorry,” is all he says, instead.

 

~

 

The real meetings don’t start until tomorrow, but Gross insists that they all sit down and brief what they have so far, just so that they’re all on the same page. Willy doesn’t really understand why he has to be here. It’s not like he’s going to do any of the negotiating, he’s just here to sign off on the final product.

But his dad thinks it’s good for him to observe the business side of things, and Willy isn’t too keen on upsetting his father any further than he already has. It’s October, he just wants to play hockey, at this point. Not that he’s allowed to say that to anyone, lest he wants another hour-long lecture.

Willy’s usually pretty focused, but it’s hard when Gross and his dad are talking in technical terms and going through these book-length, legal-worded documents. He really does try, and he even takes some notes, but at the end of the day, Willy’s forte lies in _playing_ hockey, and that alone.

He takes out his phone, holds it under the table with his left hand, his right still on the table and gripping his pen.

There’s a bunch of snaps from his buddies, a couple missed calls from his closer friends. There’s a steady stream of messages, both on iMessage and WhatsApp, still continuing to filter in. It’s like everyone he’s ever known has seen the news of his whereabouts and has decided to personally weigh in.

But honestly, Willy gets it. It _is_ pretty crazy when you think about it from the outside perspective. Like, Kyle actually came to Switzerland. He got on an eight hour flight across the ocean, apparently just to come sign him.

It’s not so much that Willy _didn’t_ expect him to, it’s just. Willy still can’t even believe that everyone agreed to this, much less that it’s actually happening. This has to be the most ridiculous gesture of grandeur. The whole NHL world is watching them, because Kyle is dramatic.

Not that Willy denies that’s he’s any less dramatic, but this was Kyle’s idea. No matter what anyone says, it’s not him this time. Really. This is one is _all_ Kyle, and Willy wishes he could tell everyone that, because everyone seems to be pinning this on him, if his messages are anything to go by. It’s almost kind of embarrassing, but Kyle probably didn’t even consider that part.

Because Kyle gets his mind set on something and suddenly it’s the whole _“I’ll come there and get you myself if I have to”_ thingbecoming more of a reality and less than just a threat.

Speaking of Kyle.

Willy doesn’t see his texts right away, but he gets to it eventually. He sighs.

 

~

 

_im in room 912 come by when you get a chance?_

 

~

 

_I wouldnt have crossed the ocean for jsut anyone ykno_

 

_~_

 

Willy honestly tries to find a chance to go meet up with Kyle, because really, they do have things they came here to talk about. Personal things.

But obviously, neither Michael Nylander or Lewis Gross know that. Which poses a particularly difficult hurdle for Willy to jump.

Just like the briefing meeting, Willy isn’t entirely sure why he has to stick around for even more business jargon functions, but he’s trying not to be difficult. Especially when his dad mentions that he went out of his way to contact some Liiga team that happens to be in town, just so Willy can stick to his training schedule.

It’s supposed to be an olive branch, but it makes things a little bit more difficult.

He keeps Kyle updated, but he still feels a little bad that he can’t make this work. It’s dumb, because he’s an adult and he should be able to prevent his dad from dragging him all across the city of Zurich, but it doesn’t quite work that way.

The worst is when they sit down for another meeting with Gross, and really, Willy appreciates what he’s doing for him — more or less, anyway — but he’s too much of his face lately and he’s starting to grow tired of it.

He doesn’t know what this one is about until Gross pulls out a list of every team in the league and asks him to rank each one, one through three, on whether or not he would take a trade or an offer there.

Willy blinks, doesn’t quite believe it at first.

“I don’t want to play anywhere except Toronto,” he says, firm.

“I know, I know,” Gross tries, “but we need a contingency in case we can’t make it work.”

Upset, Willy pushes the paper away. “We’ve gone over this, everything is a three except for Toronto. I’m not playing anywhere else.”

Michael steps in. “Come on, William, you have to be realistic. Hockey is a business.”

“I’m not doing this,” he huffs, then pointedly takes out his phone to start flicking through the notifications as a distraction.

Angrily, Michael grabs the phone out of his hands.

“I’m not giving this back to you until you finish the trade list.” It’s condescending and it’s just like when Willy was a kid. He hates it, hates it so much. He’s an adult, he refuses to treated like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

But. “Give it back,” he demands, petulant. “I pay for that myself, give it back.”

Michael doesn’t budge, of course he doesn’t. “You can have it back as soon as you’re done. It’s easy.”

So Willy sighs, considers his options, and reluctantly fills out the list.

By the time he’s released from the meeting and his phone is returned to him, it’s nearly the end of the day and Willy’s running out of chances. He briefly considers skipping out on his scheduled conditioning time. He can probably live without weights for one day, but he checks his latest texts from Kyle and isn’t surprised to see him have already figured something out.

Willy would never admit, but maybe he smiles, just a little.

Typical Kyle.

 

_~_

 

_I know youre busy but we have to talk eventually_

 

~

 

_I miss you._

 

~

 

_ok how about this? dinner reservation at 21:30, lmk and ill have a cab waiting for you downstairs_

 

~

 

After confirming, Kyle tells Willy to dress nice, so he’s kind of glad that he mostly just packed suits. They’re being discreet, of course, especially now that everyone knows that they’re here, so Willy is unsurprised to find his cab empty, is even less surprised when he’s greeted by restaurant staff at a quiet side entrance.

“Good evening, Mr. Nylander. Mr. Dubas is already waiting for you, right this way.”

So Willy lets them take his coat, lets them lead him around the back of the restaurant, out of site from the rest of the patrons. They take him to the private party rooms, and Willy is only half surprised when they open the door to one and hold it open for him.

“Mr. Nylander has arrived, sir.”

“Thank you,” Kyle nods, then watches the staff leave. Only then does he stand, and only then does he finally, _finally_ embrace Willy with open arms.

“God, I fucking missed you,” Willy mumbles into his chest. Kyle’s wearing a new cologne, and at first it’s a little weird, but Willy decides he doesn’t mind. It’s still Kyle, underneath it all.

It’s almost embarrassing how he practically leans into Kyle’s touch when he brushes his hand through his hair. But Willy supposes it’s only natural, when he’s been starving for him for this long.

“I’m glad you made it,” Kyle says, then kisses the top of his head, light and soft.

“To dinner? Or to Switzerland?” Willy laughs as they pull away and make to go sit at the table. Kyle pulls his chair out for him and Willy rolls his eyes, shoos him off.

“To me,” Kyle says, and Willy wants to smack him for being so sappy.

“You’re obnoxious,” Willy says, even while can’t stop smiling.

“But you’re into it,” Kyle replies.

“Maybe a little,” Willy winks.

Kyle goes in on his wine, so Willy figures he’ll go for the menu. Except, when he scans the table for it, there doesn’t seem to be one.

“Did you already order?” Willy asks, confused.

“Oh,” Kyle blinks. “Remember what I said about having to try the real thing sometime?”

And Willy doesn’t, not right away, but then it clicks. He remembers Kyle’s text, and then the night he last saw him face-to-face.

If Willy thought he was sappy before, this is a whole new level. He shakes his head, but he laughs, too.

“You’re really something, aren’t you, Kyle Dubas?”

Kyle doesn’t have any words to answer with, but he does lean across the table, and answers with his lips.

They don’t get crazy, though, because while Kyle explains that he has the entire restaurant staff under NDAs, it’s still not the smartest decision to be putting themselves in situations riskier than necessary. So they pull back, but Willy is content just to have Kyle in his company again.

Besides, Kyle was right. The fondue is pretty fucking good.

He’ll take it.

 

~

 

It’s a lot easier to talk about their issues face-to-face, over melted cheese and fancy bread. If anything, it definitely beats out fuzzy international phone calls in lonely, empty condos.

The wine is also a bonus.

“I’m sorry for being a dick about the whole Sweden thing,” Kyle starts. “And then maybe projecting that by being a dick about communicating.”

Willy shrugs. “You were right, though, I should be able to empathize more.”

“No you don’t, I was just—”

“It’s okay,” Willy interrupts. “We all have things to work on, eh?”

Kyle doesn’t really want to accept that, but he lets it go. “I am sorry, though.”

“I am, too. I said some things I really shouldn’t have said, and that I definitely didn’t mean.”

“I knew you didn’t mean them.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t make it right. I shouldn’t try to egg you on like that.” Willy fiddles with his cufflinks.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Kyle agrees, “but it was in the heat of the moment and I forgive you. And I hope you forgive me, too.”

“Of course I do,” Willy looks up quickly. “I forgive you because I love you.”

And Kyle softens at that, melts at the edges and looks at Willy like he’s the only thing matters, the only thing that _ever_ mattered.

He reaches across the table until he can hold Willy’s hands in his own. “I love you, too.”

They talk a little bit more, because they still have to define the line between their personal lives and business, they have to set up some kind of guidelines moving forward, but it’s a lot easier this time around, knowing that he’s got Kyle no matter what.

 

~

 

Originally, when Willy’s voice first goes low and he bats his eyelashes at him, Kyle says no.

But Willy is just a little tipsy, mostly sober but just enough to turn his cheeks pink and give him a boost of extra confidence. He’s quite persistent like this.

And he knows fully well that Kyle missed him, even if he was being kind of a dick.

So after Kyle picks up the bill, he leaves first, takes the first taxi back to the hotel ten minutes before Willy’s comes around to pick him up, too. He tries to keep his head down when he presses the button for the ninth floor, tries not to give anything away when the elevator passes the seventh, where his own suite is.

He tries to keep his head down when he navigates the corridors, all the way until he finds the appropriate room. After a quick glance around, he knocks twice, pauses, then knocks once more.

The door opens immediately, and Willy is yanked inside just as quickly.

Kyle’s on him immediately, doesn’t even pause to say hello. Not that Willy particularly minds, because he’s almost forgotten what it feels like to have Kyle’s lips on his and is more than happy to be reminded.

Willy notices immediately that Kyle’s hands are all over him, a lot more than usual. He’s holding his cheeks, then running hands through his hair. He slipping palms up under his shirt, he’s copping a good feel.

But Willy knows he can't judge, because he can barely keep his own hands to himself. It’s just, it’s been so fucking long since he’s last felt Kyle under his hands. It’s like re-discovering him, getting to know each curve and jut all over again.

He likes the way Kyle’s hands feel on his skin, softer than his own, softer without the touch of hockey. Not that it shows much anywhere else on his body, because Kyle works out just as much as the rest of them.

Which is why Willy fumbles to unbutton Kyle’s shirt, just so he can run his hands over the bumps of Kyle’s abs.

As he does that, Kyle gradually moves his lips, trailing wet kisses from the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, until he’s tucked into the crook of Willy’s neck. He sucks, just enough to leave blotchy red marks that will fade out by sunrise.

Willy kind of wishes he could leave the type that stay.

Eventually, Kyle moves to his collarbone and his chest, isn’t afraid to get a little bit of teeth in, just the way Willy likes it. He’s got him pressed up against the wall, holds him there while he goes to work.

Willy tries to keep it quiet, it’s a hotel after all, but it’s really fucking hard. He lets a couple of moans escape, and goes hot when he hears and feels Kyle breath in sharply because of it.

“You’ll be the death of me, William Nylander,” Kyle whispers over one of his nipples.

“What a way to go,” Willy says back.

Kyle replies by taking Willy’s nipple in his mouth, and sucking. Hard. It drives Willy crazy.

By the time they make it from the wall to the bed, they’ve both managed to shuck off their shirts, and Willy his slacks, too.

When Willy bounces on the bed, he motions for Kyle to come closer, then grabs him by the belt loops and undoes his belt and pants himself. Kyle is more than helpful in shimmying them off, steps out of them easily enough.

“Missed me?” Kyle laughs, lewd. But Willy just rolls his eyes, grabs him by the ass, and pulls him closer.

“Maybe a little,” Willy says, low, just inches away from the half-hard bulge in Kyle’s boxers. Willy recognizes this pair, one of Kyle’s favorites, and he decides he missed them, too. He lets him know. “I missed these boxers.”

Kyle stops. “You missed… my boxers?” he repeats slowly.

And, well, yeah when you put it like that. Willy can’t help it, he pulls back and starts laughing. “Don’t say it like that,” he grins. “I missed them because they’re like, part of you.”

“Oh,” Kyle says. “Then… they missed you, too?”

Willy gives him a pointed look. “You gonna let me do this or nah?”

“By all means.” Kyle shakes his head. 

So Willy goes back in and gets to work. He gets his mouth on the bulge, still covered by Kyle’s thin boxers. He’s hot and hard and just how Willy remembers. It’s sloppy, the way Willy mouths at him, wide and wet, but it’s just the way Kyle likes it.

He chances a look up, and he isn’t surprised to meet Kyle’s gaze where he’s watching him, breath heavy.

“Fuck, Willy,” Kyle groans when Willy blinks up at him. He gets a hand in Willy’s hair, doesn’t push him down or anything, but it’s a heavy presence and Willy revels in it. It’s a new motivator, and Willy goes harder, sucks at Kyle through the fabric like it’s the only thing he knows how to do.

But eventually, Kyle pulls him off and Willy can’t help but whine.

“Hush, babe,” Kyle’s hand loosens, and he uses it to massage at Willy’s scalp. “Want me to fuck you?”

Willy keens. “Yes, fuck Kyle, _please_.”

“Anything you want,” Kyle promises. He leans down, kisses him chaste on the lips, just to emphasize it. When he pulls away, he taps the bed. “Take off your underwear and lay back.”

When Kyle uses that voice, Willy doesn’t even think to hesitate. He’s eager, and he doesn’t care how easy it makes him look. Not when it’s for Kyle. So he does as he's told and kicks off his boxers, simultaneously scooting back the bed until he can properly rearrange himself.

Kyle uses the moment to slip out of his own boxers, soaked in his pre-come and Willy’s spit. It’s kind of hot, seeing the product of Willy’s work right there like that. He takes a deep breath.

Before he joins him again, he makes a stop in his suitcase and shuffles around until he finds a strip of condoms and a tube of lube.

Willy scoffs. “I’m that much of a sure thing, huh?” It’s mostly a joke, but Kyle stops and makes a face.

“No, don’t discount yourself like that,” Kyle goes serious for a second, which is a little weird looking when he’s ass-naked. But Willy recognizes that this isn’t the time to cut another joke, so he bites his lip and lets Kyle continue. “I just would rather have been prepared than not. And I’m glad I was.”

And Willy gets it, so he leans up on his elbows and nods at Kyle, smiles softly. “I’m glad, too.” He cocks his head to the side, raises his chin in a challenge. “So can we put it to use?”

Kyle grins, and starts to join him on the bed, one knee strategically placed between Willy’s thighs. He hovers over him, hand braced right next to Willy’s head, perfectly placed so he can lean down and kiss him, deep and dirty.

It’s sneaky in the best way, how Kyle manages to distract Willy with his lips while he preps him. He doesn’t even hear him snap open the cap, doesn’t notice him reach down the get it spread on his fingers and warmup it up. He only notices when Kyle’s already right there, fingers at his hole and asking if he he can enter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Willy says in one breath, all in a rush.

“I’ve got you,” Kyle says, goes back down so his lips brush against Willy’s cheek with every word. “I’ve got you.”

Kyle doesn’t waste another second, he pushes in steady and firm, then gets to work opening Willy up.

It’s been a while, because even while they’d been fighting, Willy hadn’t had anyone since the last time he had Kyle. But Kyle touches him with an extra kind of carefulness, a little more than usual, and Willy knows he doesn't have to tell him. He already knows. 

But Kyle still knows his body well, which means it doesn’t take very long until Willy is loose and ready for him.

“Fuck me now,” Willy demands, breathy. He doesn’t care how whiny he sounds, not when he’s been craving this for the past forever. “I’m ready.”

Kyle laughs, but he also goes in for another kiss, and Willy isn’t one to deny him that.

When Kyle pulls away, Willy’s left without any touch, but he waits patiently and watches Kyle from his spot on the bed. Kyle pumps himself a couple of times, and Willy appreciates the view, appreciates watching Kyle’s dick grow for him. Kyle seems to deem it enough, because he unceremoniously rips open a condom packet and efficiently rolls it on. When he goes for the lube again, Willy finally leans back and closes his eyes, starts to hype it up in his head.

He feels Kyle over him again, feels his presence first and then his breath at his neck. “Ready, babe?”

“Please,” Willy confirms, and that’s all Kyle needs before he’s pushing in, gentle and paced, but still full and firm.

Willy can’t help it, he groans, loud and dirty, right into Kyle’s ear. It must do something for Kyle, because Willy feels him twitch inside of him.

“Holy shit,” Willy pants.

“So good, babe,” Kyle murmurs into his neck, “so fucking good.”

Soon enough, Kyle starts to pick up his speed, gets into a good rhythm that drives Willy insane. Kyle’s got one hand, gripped tight on his hip, and Willy’s almost sure it’ll leave bruises shaped to his fingers. In fact, he _hopes_ it does.

Kyle uses his other hand to get a grip on Willy’s dick. He keeps it loose but his rhythm is steady and he twists his wrist on each upstroke, just the way Willy likes. It’s a lot, it’s overwhelming, really, especially when he starts mouthing at Willy’s collarbone again, so it isn’t long before Willy is squirming, thoughts and feeling all a jumbled mess in his head.

“Fuck, fuck,” Willy leans into his touch, “Kyle, oh my god, Kyle.”

And that's how he comes, with Kyle’s dick inside of him, Kyle’s hand around him, and Kyle’s name on his lips.

“Shit, Willy,” Kyle groans, and he moves quickly, gets both hands on Willy’s hips now and drives in as deep as he can go. His balls slap lewdly against the round of Willy’s ass, but the sounds just fuels him more and more, until he goes over the edge, too.

He pulls out, still panting, and barely remembers to tie off the condom and toss it before falling heavily into the bed, right beside Willy.

This part is easy and familiar. Scooting closer, Willy claims his rightful place with Kyle’s arm around him and his head rested gently on Kyle’s chest. He tangles their legs together and closes his eyes, just focuses on _feeling_ for a second. The rise and fall of Kyle's chest, the warmth that radiates from him, the brush of his fingers in his hair. It's good, it's calming. It's just like always and Willy really fucking missed it.

But eventually, Willy rolls off the bed and tries to stand up. He more or less makes it but his legs buckle, and he has to grab the wall to keep from falling.

“You okay?” Kyle calls from the bed.

“Yeah, just,” Willy waves it off. “I’m just gonna go use your bathroom.”

“You can say it, you know,” Kyle teases. “You can say I fucked you so good you can barely walk.”

Willy rolls his eyes, and turns back solely so he can grab a pillow off the bed and chuck it at him. Kyle sees it coming, though, so he bats it away and grins up at him all smug. Most people would probably be annoyed but Willy can’t help but feel a little tug in his chest.

He shouldn’t be so endeared, but he is. He can’t help it.

There a beat, where they’re just grinning at each other a little ridiculously but Willy eventually breaks.

“I missed you,” he lets slip.

“Missed me or just my dick?” Kyle winks, but Willy’s already stepping into the bathroom.

“Originally just you, but you’re making me reconsider,” Willy calls, voice echo-y from the other room.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle calls back, “love you, too.”

Willy laughs, and he knows Kyle can hear him loud and clear.

 

~

 

As much as Willy wants to stay the night cuddled against Kyle, as much as they both want that, it’s not realistic and it’s probably not smart.

Willy knows it’s time to go when Kyle starts to shuffle around and makes to sit up. He won’t be difficult, not for this, not when it’s already hard enough for the both of them. So Willy sits up too, stretches his arms out, and only then looks back at Kyle.

“I should head back to my room,” he says, and as much as he tries to hide the dejection in his voice, the face that Kyle makes is enough to give away that he failed.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” Kyle admits, quiet.

“I have an early practice,” Willy sighs, and he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he is Kyle. “It’s a ninety minute drive.”

Kyle nods and falls back against the headboard. He watches as Willy collects his clothes off the ground, piece by piece, and slowly gets dressed in front of him. It’s a shame, seeing each inch of Willy’s skin gradually hidden again.

But Willy knows it won’t be the last time Kyle gets to see him like this, and it won’t be very long until the next.

When he’s dressed and ready to go, he almost changes his mind, but Kyle beckons him close and kisses him, slow and deep.

“I love you.”

Willy closes his eyes, swallows, collects himself.

“Bring me home, Kyle.” It's barely a whisper but it's there. 

And Kyle hears him, anyway, bites his lip but nods.

“Go,” he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s hard. So Willy takes a breath, then kisses him one more time.

“See you tomorrow.”

He goes.

 

 

 

 

_(end? …or tbc?)_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I promised to write a healthy Kyle/Willy at some point, but I'll be quite honest, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Thanks to the real world for literally handing me something so ridiculous that it already sounded like a fic prompt. There's a lot of inaccuracies, but there's a lot of plot points and details that are based on actual things that really happened. I'll make an Author Commentary with all of that in the next couple of days and link it back here and on my twitter!
> 
> Oh but also, fuck Lewis Gross, he's a weanie. 
> 
> Come cry about #WillyWatch2K18 with me on twitter: @[pinkmanite](https://www.twitter.com/pinkmanite)


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